


One Foot In Heaven // The Other in Hell

by mannarose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied Smut, Implied Torture, Implied abuse, Minor Character Death, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 11:03:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18776980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mannarose/pseuds/mannarose
Summary: In a 19th century New York City carved up between angels and demons, you and Steve have roles in the eternal war you neither asked for nor wanted. All you really want is each other.





	1. One Foot in Heaven...

**Author's Note:**

> Dark Marvel AU. Not consistent with MCU or Marvel canon. Demon/Angel AU. Written for Bucky's Forever Princess' Into the Nightmare 2K Challenge on tumblr. Set in the mid-to-late nineteenth century, but staying vague to avoid massive amounts of research in the interests of historical accuracy.

Upon the news that his third wife had borne him a daughter, your father beat a servant to death.

At least, he thought, the otherwise useless creature he'd tied himself to this time had managed to survive pregnancy with his child, something no other woman had managed. Though a daughter was worse than worthless to him, this was the first child to survive as well, so perhaps his vapid little wife would have some use other than her money after all.

Truth be told, all he'd wanted out of a wife was an heiress who could bear his children. She may have disappointed on her first try, but she'd done better than her predecessors. As he stood panting over the broken body of the maid he'd destroyed with his fists on the floor of his study, he considered using some of her money to buy his stupid little wife something sparkly for the birth. Not that he cared enough to know, but he imagined that as a woman she'd like that, and with the smell of blood in the air he was feeling indulgent.

As you saw your father only once in a blue moon, growing up you were mostly insulated from his disdain for you and his growing impatience with your mother. Though he exercised his husbandly rights on a regular basis to get the son he so desperately sought, his unassuming little wife rarely conceived. On the few occasions she’d gotten pregnant, she miscarried, but survived each time. He had begun to hope that she wouldn't survive the next so that he could be free to seek out another, younger wife who might finally be able to give him an heir.

To his frustration, he was reliant upon human women and their weak bodies to get what he needed. As he couldn't be certain he'd ever find a woman capable of giving him a son, he used your existence as a backup plan, arranging your engagement to a powerful family with the potential to be extremely useful to a creature with ambition. The boy was weak and sickly, but your father figured that would make him easier to manipulate. If nothing else, marrying you off to the little invalid as soon as possible would minimize the danger you posed.

You couldn't remember a time that you didn’t know Steve, didn't know that one day you and Steve would marry. You couldn't imagine a world in which you didn't adore every single thing about him, a universe in which you weren't meant to be together forever. Three years old when you were born, Steve had been your world your entire life. Because Steve's mother, Sarah, and your mother were old friends and comrades, both were delighted with the match.

Unbeknownst to their husbands, your mother and Sarah were intelligent and strong-minded women. Though they weren’t aware of it, Joseph Rogers and your father were being outmaneuvered by far more brilliant minds and your betrothal was only part of it. The only concern was whether you and Steve would comply. By the time you were sixteen and Steve nineteen, however, it had become clear that neither of you had eyes for anyone else.

Steve was small, both short and slim, and prone to illness. He spent most of his time inside, both because he was often sick, but also because any number of things outside could set off a fit of wheezing. He was pale both from the lack of sunshine and the arsenic used to treat his asthma. You knew that others looked at Steve and saw weakness, but you saw strength.

Steve wasn't just your betrothed, your beloved, he was also your best friend and the person you trusted above all else. You knew Steve wasn't weak, but quiet and shy. Steve had an unshakeable concept of right and wrong and a complete inability to ignore his conscience.

He also had not just a willingness, but an eagerness to fight for what he thought was right. If Steve thought something must be done, he would do it, regardless of all else. Between you and James, Steve's brother in arms and best friend, you had barely managed to keep him alive. His utter disregard for his own health and safety made it a nearly impossible task.

You may have been mad, but you looked forward to a lifetime of it.

Not long after your seventeenth birthday but shortly before the wedding, all hell broke loose.

You and Steve had inadvertently set the stage for the calamity a couple of days prior. You had taken a rare chance to be alone together; both your mothers had been very careful about chaperones for years.

The gardens of your father’s country estate where he most often left you and your mother to your own devices were massive and elaborate. Near the center was a little bower where the trees had been tied to force them to grow together into an arbor. After years of neglect and tucked away where you had to almost crawl in, you and Steve had found it as children and immediately claimed it as your secret. You’d spent hours there together, talking and dreaming.

Years later, in that place of childhood dreams, you and Steve had exchanged vows of your own making before making love for the first time. As you promised to love him forever and a day, joy, bright and brilliant, burst upon you like sunlight. As you moved together, tentatively as each of you was afraid of hurting the other, the pleasure was so pure and radiant you were sure it had to be magic.

You weren’t really surprised. You and Steve had always made magic together.

A few days later, in the library of his family’s house in Brooklyn Heights, you and Steve sat next to one another on a sofa in the corner. Under the fan of your skirts, Steve had taken your hand and was brushing his thumb over the back of your fingers, something he'd done a thousand times before.

This time, though, knowing what his face looked like flushed with passion, how his eyes had glowed as they took in the sight of your body finally bared completely to his gaze, even that little touch was electrifying. Completely distracted, neither of spoke as you each focused on that point of physical contact. You could hear the little catches in his breathing you knew to be the surest sign of Steve's excitement. You'd heard them before every kiss he'd ever stolen.

You didn’t notice your mothers sending one another worried glances at the change in your behavior; you and Steve normally held animated conversations whenever you were together. You didn’t notice the looks of malevolent glee your fathers traded or the subtle smell of brimstone that permeated the room as the men tossed back celebratory glasses of brandy.

You did notice, however, the look of corrupted lust that lived in Steve's father's eyes when he crossed to you, his voice booming out. "Well, my dear! We always considered you one of the family. The day after tomorrow, it becomes official!” Joseph Rogers' eyes raked the bared skin of your chest your neckline exposed and made your skin crawl. Now that you knew what healthy desire looked like, it seemed easy to see the twisted, malignant kind for what it was.

When he reached out and snagged your hand in his, it took everything you had to not yank it out of his grip. Afraid to make a scene, especially so soon before the wedding, you forced your hand to lie lightly in his and allowed him to draw you to your feet. It seemed almost painful in that moment, but you let go of Steve's hand as your skirts fell around you.

"A kiss for my soon-to-be daughter-in-law!" he announced with a leer that a week ago would have looked avuncular and harmless. You didn't know why Steve's father, who had always seemed to you like a mostly benign drunkard, if a little over familiar, now looked like a demon from the pit. Mesmerized by the flames that danced behind his eyes, you didn't cringe away though every fiber of your being was screaming at you to run.

As his overly wet and deeply unpleasant mouth met yours, blinding light bloomed behind your eyelids and a sound like you were directly underneath clanging cathedral bells screamed inside your head. A searing pain shrieked through your body, leaving you unable to feel, see, or hear anything. It couldn't have been long before you came back to your senses, but nothing made sense when you did.

Your mother was cradling you in her arms where you'd fallen to the carpet. Your father was looking at both of you with a sneer of disgust that didn't hide the predatory gleam of anticipation that shone in his eyes. You shuddered as you looked at him; it was like you were seeing him for the first time.

He was a handsome man, but under his skin something… revolting lived. It was the raw red of a dangerously warm wound but mottled with what looked like bruises in varying states of healing, ranging from green to purple. Your gorge rose at the sight and you ached to scramble back, away from boiling black eyes so cold they burned.

"Obviously we'll have to call off the wedding." Joseph was saying cruelly. He flicked a dismissive glance your way. You were fascinated to see a similarly hideous red creature beneath his skin. He glanced at Steve, and the disappointment on his face was so clear, you wanted to claw out his eyes.

Steve looked to you as he always did, beautiful, but the bleakness on his face had your heart galloping in fear. He was cradling his mother in his arms as she sobbed into his shoulder. You thought you could see the beginnings of a bruise on her cheek and wondered if this was the source of the sadness that always seemed to haunt Steve's eyes.

Steve's eyes were on yours, liquid with love and sorrow. Underneath his skin was the loveliest golden glow, like his soul was as beautiful as his face. His mother was as golden, if not as bright, and together they created a little sun for you to focus on as you tried to catch your breath.

Your mother was holding you in her arms and murmuring words of reassurance and remorse. You couldn’t understand why she was apologizing as she rocked you, but her arms were tight around you and her voice was thick with unshed tears. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a glow emanating from your mother that matched that from Steve and Sarah, but hers was silver.

"Pity," your father was saying, his voice both bored and irritated. "An alliance between our houses would have been formidable."

"Once we get this cleaned up," Joseph replied with a roll of his eyes toward you and your mother, "we should discuss other options." The two men smiled at one another and the sight had chills of terror running down your spine. You were trying desperately to scramble to your feet and run, grabbing your mother, Steve, and Sarah on your way. You were weak as a kitten, though, and could barely lift your arm to reach toward Steve.

Only once your arm was outstretched, however, did you realize that the silver light that had been teasing the corner of your eye was coming not only from your mother, but from symbols etched all over your skin. You wondered if they were confined to your arms and shoulders or if you were covered in them. You didn't understand what they meant or where they came from, but unlike the golden glow of Steve and his mother, or the silver glow of your mother, everyone else seemed able to see them, too.

"I-- I don't understand," you said, your voice a near soundless whisper, as your throat was as raw as though you'd been screaming with all your might.

"Excellent," your father said with a sigh of relief. "She's untrained. That will make this much easier." With that, he walked across the library to grab you by the knot of hair at the back of your head. You tried to struggle as he dragged you to your feet and scooped you into his arms, but your muscles felt like water. "Come along, Lydia. It looks like I found a use for a daughter after all."

Your mother rose to her feet, every inch of her body taut with haughty disdain. You'd never seen her like this, like a cruel queen dismissing a disappointing servant. "Only because you hold something of far greater worth than you can imagine. Perhaps you should be more careful with her."

Rather than growing stronger the longer you were conscious, you seemed to be getting weaker. You reached out to Steve again, your mouth forming the words even though your voice couldn't carry them to him. "Help me." The last thing you saw as darkness descended was Steve turning away.

 

* * *

 

 

You awoke in tears.

You were already crying as you swam toward consciousness, but once you broke the surface, you were shocked to hear the wracking sobs tearing from your throat in harsh cries of betrayal, heartbreak, and terror. Almost immediately you stuffed your fist in your mouth to stifle the sound of your tears, but even as you gained control over your body, your heart continued to weep. You slowly became aware of your surroundings and as you did, you began to tremble.

You were in what you thought was the cellar of your father’s house in Brooklyn, but a part of it you'd never been in before, not that you’d spent much time here. Around you was a cage, and around your cage were more cages. In the one next to yours, a girl who looked a lot like your mother but closer to your age rocked back and forth and sang softly to herself. The wounds in varying states of healing all over her bare body made you sick to your stomach at the thought of what she must have endured. You hoped she'd found a more pleasant place in her mind.

You were still wearing the gown you'd worn to your fiancé's house, though it was stained with heaven knows what from the floor you'd been laying on. The pungent coppery smell told you the identity of at least one of the substances you were now covered in. You looked down at your arms and saw the symbols still glowed the slightest bit but would not be noticeable in light any brighter than that of a single candle. The only light in your dungeon was dim, golden light from a crack under the door leading into what you assumed was the wine cellar.

Your suspicions were confirmed when you heard the rattle of bottles as the rack in front of the door was moved aside. Your heart was pounding with the fear that your father had come for you. The door opened, and you relaxed a fraction when you saw the female shape of the silhouette, even as part of you grew more frantic at the flickering light at the shadow's back.

"Miss Y/N?" The voice whispered tentatively, as though afraid to make any more sound than absolutely necessary. Nonetheless, you recognized the voice as belonging to the personal maid your mother had brought from her own household, Maria.

"Maria," you whispered back, still unable to speak out loud, though that would seem to be an advantage in your current predicament.

"Oh, thank god," she breathed. "Let's get you out of here." She went to work on the lock of your cage, pulling what you thought must be lockpicks from a pocket in her petticoat.

As she worked, you noticed the smell of smoke wafting into the room through the open door. "Maria, where's my mother?"

"I'm sorry,” she answered briskly, but with sympathy nonetheless. “Your father killed her before he set fire to the house. He was more cunning than either she or I expected." Having made quick work of the lock on your cage, she turned to the cage next to yours with pity on her face. "I don't know if I can save you," she said to the girl in low and soothing tones as she worked at the lock, "but damned if I'm not going to try." She sounded almost put out by it.

As she worked at the other lock, you crawled out of the cage and got tentatively to your feet. For reasons that escaped you, rather than your earlier weakness, your muscles now felt stronger than they ever had before, and a burst of energy made you feel like you could fly if you had to.

You could tell the effort was likely futile, but Maria was right. You had to try. Once Maria had the lock open, you reached into the cage and pulled the young woman out. As soon as she was standing on wobbling legs, Maria was wrapping her in the cloak she'd pulled from her own shoulders. You and Maria moved to each side of the girl, bracing and supporting her.

Maria didn't move toward the open door, however, but toward the back of the dank little room. That's when you realized that wisps of smoke were streaming from the door through the room before disappearing into a little crack at the darkest back corner.

Maria pushed, and a slab of rock that looked as though it couldn’t have been moved by a giant swung easily aside to reveal a hidden passageway. The girl between you seemed to wake up a little at the smell of fresh air. To your surprise, she moved forward without a murmur of protest.

The passageway was tight, especially for three people, but though you expected your father to come out of the dark behind you to snatch you back, you made it nearly to the end, and escape, without incident.

A gust of cool air blew over the three of you, making you and Maria shiver, but seeming to wake your companion. She gave a quiet whimper, dropped the cloak and turned around, running naked back toward the house. You tried to turn and catch her, but Maria prevented you.

“I can’t let you risk yourself. The house was already engulfed in flames when I ran down to the cellar. We can’t save her now.” You wanted to yell at her for her callousness, but the sadness in her eyes stopped your voice. “Come. Your uncle will be waiting.”

 

* * *

 

 

You sat on a settee in your uncle's study with your face buried in his chest as you shook like a leaf in a hurricane, reaction from the events of the night finally setting in. Your aunt draped a blanket carefully around your shoulders and rubbed your upper arms through the fabric like she could take some of the pain away through her palms. Sadly, no one had that power. To lose your mother and Steve in the same night was devastating beyond belief. Though you hadn’t shed a tear since you’d awoken, inside you sobbed like your heart was breaking. Because it was.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. This was all my fault." Tony's voice was low and throbbing with remorse. The loss of his dear little sister wounded him to the deepest place in his heart. The loss of his most trusted lieutenant in the never-ending war left all his carefully laid plans in shambles. But for Maria, there'd be nothing left of the twenty-year long plot to take his enemy down from the inside. But for Maria, there'd be nothing left of his Lydia. He met Pepper's eyes over your head and took solace from the love and understanding there.

"If everything had gone to plan, you never would have been in danger." Tony's heart hurt, because he was almost certain he knew where his plan had gone awry. If his sister had been a better soldier than a mother, perhaps things would be different now, but he would never have wished it so. "One of two things must have happened, and one is far more likely than the other." Your uncle and the last of the family you could trust pulled you away so that he could look into your eyes. His will almost broke when your pale, grieving face came into his view, but he pressed on. "Did you allow Steve the rights of a husband before your wedding?"

He knew your answer by the way your face blanched and your eyes dropped to your lap. "I did. We were to be married in a few short days. I didn't see the harm." Your voice was a rasp, still damaged from whatever had happened when Joseph Rogers had kissed you. Pepper continued to rub your arms and the sympathy in the way she squeezed your shoulders made you feel better.

Tony stood and moved to the desk where a decanter of brandy sat. He poured one for each of you as he spoke. "If you were a normal girl and Steve a normal boy, there probably would have been no harm."

 

* * *

 

 

Maria came up behind you and placed a cloak around your shoulders. You were standing at the rail of a steamship taking a last look at New York. You were believed dead, so it was best that you get gone before someone saw you. The bodies of two women had been found in the still smoldering remains of your burned down house, your father was nowhere to be found, and your uncle was buying two headstones, one for his sister, the other for his niece.

You were going to England to be trained.

Steve… well, you weren't sure. Your Uncle Tony had told you that he'd chosen the other side in this war, that he'd joined his father, the Demon King of Brooklyn, to become a creature like that you had seen lurking beneath the surface of Joseph’s skin. You could hardly imagine your Steve doing such a thing.

He told you Steve had helped kill his mother.

You didn't say it out loud, but _that_ you didn't believe even a little.

Of course, you didn't think your uncle was lying, though you wouldn't put it past him if he thought it was what was best for you. Hadn't he, and your mother, and Maria, and Pepper and everyone else in your mother's family lied to you your whole damn life about who you were and your place in all this insanity? You may have understood, but you were also furious, and you'd vowed to never be used like that again.

If they’d only _told_ you about the spell that hid you from demons, you would not have broken it by making love with Steve.

The fact was, even though he'd turned away from you at the end, you _knew_ Steve. Steve would never have harmed a hair on his mother's head. He adored her, would die protecting her without hesitation. You could not believe that he could have had a hand in her death. If part of Tony's information was flawed, the rest was suspect. You wouldn't let your heart truly break until you'd seen Steve for yourself, heard the truth, or god forbid a lie, from his own lips.

Unfortunately, Tony had been adamant that your continued existence could not be known by anyone. He would not allow you to contact Steve in any way, was in fact shipping you off as quickly as possible to get you under the thumb of someone he trusted to control you. You were going along with it so that you could learn what you needed to obtain your revenge.

You may have chosen the angelic side, the "good" side, but you'd done it for all the wrong reasons and you knew it, not that you were concerned. You'd finally been told why your mother, a being from a powerful angelic bloodline, would have a child with a creature from the pit, a demon of a less powerful demonic bloodline. You were a weapon, but despite what the others thought, you would decide how your power was to be wielded.

As you raked the New York skyline with eyes burning with unshed tears, trying to sear the sight into your memory until you could come home again, you hardened your heart. New York meant Steve, but you had a mission now. Every day that ended with your father still breathing was an offense. You wouldn't rest until he'd breathed his last. For your mother. For a girl whose name you never learned but that now lay at rest under yours. For all your broken dreams.

 

* * *

 

 

Five years later you stood in front of the house in Brooklyn that had been built in place of that once owned by your father. The fire brigade had managed to save the houses around it, but your father’s house had burned to the ground. You didn’t know why, but apparently he had cut his losses and bolted. The last Tony had heard, he was in New Orleans trying to make alliances against the Demon King of New York. Your mentor's spies said the same and Fury's spies were almost never wrong.

Fury, a dark man who seemed humorless at first but, when he relaxed a little, was in actuality very funny if a little melodramatic, and the ever-faithful Maria had spent almost every hour of every day training you for the day of your return. You'd had physical training until you were agile as a cat and deadly with a blade. You currently had your favorite strapped to your thigh under the thick black skirts that could be removed with a pull of a string. Underneath you wore breeches and boots in case you suddenly needed to move unencumbered. Tony had sent him a soft, sweet little rich girl. Fury had sent back a warrior.

You hadn't been trained in only martial talents, however. The long history of your bloodline had finally been passed to you. You understood now what had happened the night your world came apart. Now that you'd been taught to use the power that had flowed through you that night, you were nigh unstoppable. Not that you had any intention of using that power today.

You'd given Maria the slip so that you could go back to your old neighborhood, thoigh you’d never spent much time at your father's house in Brooklyn. He had much preferred that you and your mother stay at the country estate. It made a lot more sense once you'd finally been told of his vicious and depraved appetites, seen the evidence of them first hand. You hoped those that lived there now never learned of the horrific things done on that unholy ground.

Almost against your will, your feet turned you towards Steve's house. To indulge his new wife, with whom he was delighted due to the size of her dowry, your father had bought his city home just a few doors down from the Rogers'. He hadn't known that he was buying it from his brother-in-law, nor had he known that it had been outfitted with an escape route in the wine cellar. But then, you wouldn't expect even a demon with your father’s pedigree to know that he'd married into an extremely powerful angelic bloodline. The Starks were nothing if not secretive.

You weren't worried about being recognized, hiding as you were in widow's weeds and a hat with a heavy veil. You slowed but remained carefully casual as you walked by. You wondered if he was in there now. What would happen if you walked up to the door and knocked? Would he welcome you with open arms? Or would he kill you on the spot?

You were so lost in thought, you didn't notice that you'd come to a stop, all your training forgotten as you stared at the house that held your heart, even now. You also didn't notice the green-eyed redhead behind you whose eyes had sharpened when she followed your gaze.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" The redhead's voice was low and almost bored as she walked toward you. When you turned in her direction, your eyes widened but you saw her intent a split second too late. In a move almost too fast to see, she had your wrists in her hands and wrapped in black rope that seemed to smoke and seethe. "Looks like I caught an angel," she murmured with a smirk as she pulled you by the rope across the street. If you were an ordinary angel, the rope would have burned like ice, but as it was it only held a somewhat pleasant coolness.

You didn't try to escape. Some part of you had been hoping for something like this, some excuse to see Steve, to find out if your heart could be trusted at all. The traitorous thing wouldn't stop beating for him. Maybe if you saw him as the creature he'd become, you could finally talk your heart out of its stubborn loyalty. When the front door opened to the house you'd run tame in whenever you'd come to Brooklyn, your heart leapt at the knowledge that for better or worse, you were going to see Steve again. You couldn't help the small smile that curved your lips.

"Since you're so compliant," the redhead was saying as you looked around, wondering at the small changes you could see, "we can put you in the library until James and I figure out what to do with you." Your head snapped around at the name James, the first acknowledgement you'd given the woman's words. "I see you've heard of our ghost story," she replied with a smirk. "At least now I know I didn't capture a doll."

She showed you into the library, though you knew very well where it was. Your familiarity with the house wasn't lost on the woman, who wondered even as she determined to get James as soon as you were trapped in the hidden sigil meant to hold captive angels. Once you were seated, she breathed a sigh of relief. However, she couldn't help but notice your apparent lack of fear considering you were an angel among demons. You folded your hands loosely in your lap as you made yourself comfortable on the sofa across from the massive wooden desk that sat with its back to even more massive windows.

You had been dreading this room more than any other, afraid the sight of the place where your life as you knew it had ended would break you despite your training. You were relieved to see that it had been changed in nearly every way. Every scrap of furniture was different; the carpets, the wallpaper, even the books seemed to have been replaced. You wondered if Steve hated this room as much as you did.

"I hear our little spider caught something." You recognized the voice as soon as you heard it. Low and warm with humor, the good-natured man was someone you'd missed almost as much as Steve. It took everything you had to not leap to your feet and hug him as hard as you could. As it was, you remained still. Fury had taught you the value of staying quiet when in doubt.

"Something special," the little redhead replied. "I think Stark either sent something top-tier, or something unusual. I wouldn't have looked twice if she hadn't stopped in front of the house."

"Give her a break. Who could anticipate our Natasha?" James was chuckling, his voice a touch flirtatious. You'd heard it enough times to see the smile on his face in your head without turning to look. You knew better, but you just couldn't help yourself. Five years with Maria and Fury had also honed your tongue to a razor edge.

"Please tell me women are not still falling for that," you said clearly, your voice dry as a desert, with an almost cracking sandpaper rasp. Your throat had never recovered from the damage done the night your blood had responded to the demon holding you. Even so, the tone and timbre were still recognizable to anyone who knew you well. You kept your gaze on the gardens outside the windows behind the desk, but the sudden silence told you that you had their attention.

A small smile curved your lips in response until you heard James breathe, "Y/N? You're alive?" The sound of his genuine grief mixed with hope broke your resistance. This was why you hadn't been allowed to see these people. Your heart was too vulnerable. It didn't matter that they were on opposing sides in an eternal war, you loved them. With a sigh, you lifted your still bound hands to your hat to remove the pin holding it on and pulled the veil from your face.

You turned and looked at James as you replied, your eyes tired and sad. "If you can call it that," you smirked.

With a whoop, James was hopping over the back of the sofa to snatch you up into his arms and squeeze you until you squeaked. "He always said he'd know if you were really gone." As he was talking he was alternating pulling back to cup your face in his hands and yanking you back into his arms to hug you again. You were laughing, though your voice was thick with tears you would not let fall. You hadn't allowed yourself to cry since the night your mother died. "I can't believe Stark let us believe you were dead. I understand hiding you from your father, but Steve? Where is Steve?" The last wasn't directed at you, but at Natasha.

"He's getting ready for his meeting with the King of Long Island about his daughter's hand." Natasha was answering James, but her eyes were on you. You stiffened involuntarily and cursed yourself. Another break in your training and you'd only just gotten back. Some soldier, easily caught, hugging one of your jailers, and jealous that your enemy(?) had been courting another.

James felt your body tense and grinned. "Not anymore, I bet. I'm going to get him. Do not let her leave." With that he let you go to run through the door and from the sounds of his pounding footsteps, up the stairs.

"I guess he forgot about the sigil I'm standing on." You spoke to the suspicious Natasha for the first time, a small smile curving your lips.

"I take it you didn't. It's supposed to burn, you know."

Your smile widened when you saw that this one wouldn't underestimate you. Good. You were grateful Steve had had suspicious, dangerous people at his back. "Is it? How odd."

"So are the ropes."

"Maybe you need new ones." Your voice bored, you sank down onto the couch and turned your gaze back to the windows.

"Buck, I really don't have time to deal with whatever spies Stark is sending now. He's been spying on me for years; I don't know why Natasha even bothered to capture one."

Your breath caught, and your heart leapt when you heard his voice. Your eyes closed as you floated on the sound you'd missed more than anything from home. That beautiful sound was different somehow, though, the timbre lower and deeper and you hurt that you hadn't kept such a sacred memory with true fidelity.

On top of that, _Steve_ sounded different. His voice carried the tone of command, the sound of a man sure in his position and confident he'll be obeyed. You grieved a little for the shy boy who'd won your heart practically before you could walk.

"Yeah, but this one's special, Stevie. Trust me." James was practically dancing he was so happy. Steve was amused, but less than enthused. His best friend was at his most dangerous when he was this excitable.

Now that the moment was here, you couldn't seem to make yourself move. You wanted to stand, to turn and see the face that had haunted you through most of every day and all of every night for years. Tears pricked at your eyes and were viciously blinked back. You would not look at Steve for the first time again through a sheen of tears.

Natasha piped up. "The ropes and the sigil don't burn her, Steven."

For the first time, Steve sounded interested, though he still didn't sound like your Steve. "I see. Did Stark send a nephalem to spy on us this time?"

This was the moment. You stood slowly, your hands still folded in their bonds, and though you weren't aware of it, your training had left its mark. As you stood, Natasha and Steve both braced, alert to the danger you posed by your smooth movement, the sign of a highly trained assassin. As you turned to face Steve, your heart galloped in both excitement and fear. "No one sent me." Your eyes were soft as you turned to face the man your heart insisted was your husband. You'd given him your heart, your body, and your soul without hesitation, taken vows for all they’d been for his ears alone. You wouldn't take it back now, no matter what he'd become.

Your eyes had expected Steve's face much lower than it was. As your eyes lifted to his, they traced over a massive chest, brawny shoulders, and huge arms. By the time you'd reached his face, your expression was one of fear and confusion. He looked like Steve, but not your Steve. His gorgeous blue eyes were cold when they met yours and your heart failed.

You hoped he'd at least let his face be the last thing you saw before you died.

Then something strange happened. You'd been holding back your other sight, terrified you'd see the hideous red creature you knew had to be beneath Steve's skin. You cursed yourself again, angry at how weak you were, how desperate you were to avoid facing what Steve had become. Tony had told you a thousand times in person and in letters to accept that Steve was lost forever, but you were still holding onto the memory of a love that could never be.

But when you looked into Steve's eyes, you caught a flicker of that golden glow you'd seen in him that last night. Your heart murmured insistently. The corner of your mouth lifted slightly with the hope that your Steve was still in there, in this body you didn't recognize. The smile fell completely when Steve took three angry strides forward and closed his hands hard around your upper arms.

Steve lifted you up, his face a mask of rage. “Who are you and what horrible magic has Stark done to give you her face?” The flames you’d once seen in his father’s eyes danced behind Steve’s, but you weren’t frightened. You didn’t struggle against his grip because under that anger you could see his heartbreak, his grief, as fresh as when you lost each other.

“Is that really more believable than I faked my own death?” You were a little surprised to feel the buzz of irritation under your skin, but you didn’t like being frightened by Steve. These days you responded to things you didn’t like with anger. Of all the reactions you’d imagined, skepticism wasn’t one of them.

Steve set you down, hard, and his grip on your shoulders remained almost painfully tight as he answered harshly. “Yes. Because I cannot imagine why Y/N would let me think she was dead.” He towered over you as he lifted you onto your toes to bring your face closer to his, the experience dizzying in its unfamiliarity. “For years.” Steve’s eyes were sizzling black and gold, his voice a menacing growl.

You closed your eyes as guilt assailed you. "You're a demon," you replied, your voice cracking as you held back the tears. Seeing Steve like this was almost more than you could bear, proof that at least some of what Tony had told you was true.

Steve released you with a curse, turning to glare at James. "They didn't even get the voice right," he said in a tone you'd never heard from him, scathing and cruel. He turned back to you, his jaw set in rage. "Did Stark really think I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference?"

Standing in the room where it had all fallen apart, where every naïve dream you'd had ended up broken under your feet, as the love you'd never been able to escape turned its back on you, you wanted to weep. But you’d learned years ago that tears were worthless. Instead, as always, you channeled that feeling into anger of your own.

You lifted your bound hands as you stepped forward. The smoking ropes vanished in a sizzle of silver light and the sigil did nothing more than tickle as you crossed its boundaries. Natasha moved into an immediate defensive crouch, ready to leap. You stopped where you were and pulled the string at your waist, letting your skirts fall to your feet.

"The last time I was in this room, _Steven,_ " you began, your voice rasping even more harshly with your pain and rage, "you and I sat on a sofa against those windows. You had my hand in yours under the edge of my skirts and we were both thinking about..." Your trailed off as your skin ran with heat at the memory. Caught, Steve turned slowly to face you once more. "When your father kissed me," you went on, drowning in the bright blue eyes you’d never stopped dreaming of, "everything went crazy, blinding light, clanging bells, pain like I was burning from the inside out." Steve was walking slowly toward you, his eyes never leaving yours even as Natasha growled in protest. "I think I screamed, but I don't remember. My voice has never been the same."

Steve stopped directly in front of you, his hands coming up to once again close around your shoulders, but with infinite tenderness this time. His big warm hands were squeezing gently as his eyes seemed to devour your face like they were starved for the sight of you. He looked astonished, but belief was beginning to take hold. "Why?"

In that moment, with Steve’s hands smoothing up and down the outside of your arms and his eyes rich with the same love that had always lived there, you didn’t know how you’d ever doubted him. Whether or not Steve had given into his demonic heritage, he was still your beloved. You knew what he was asking; he deserved the truth.

“That last night, I reached for you and you turned away.” Tears were standing in your eyes again and the sight had Steve’s hands coming up to cup your face. “After that, I heard so many things and didn’t know what to believe. When Uncle Tony decided to ship me off to England, I didn’t argue.”

“I was grabbing a knife. Well, a letter opener.”

You gave a little hiccup of a laugh, one tear breaking rank and slipping down your face. Steve lips were there to kiss it away and the feel of his mouth on your skin made your heart ache. When he licked his lips, a flash of golden light winked in his eyes, but you were too busy looking at his mouth and wondering if he tasted the same to notice. “I should have known,” you murmured, unsurprised. “I think my heart did.” You looked up at Steve, a disorienting experience as you’d never had to do so, and the wave of love that hit you was so huge you felt you might drown in it. There was no guarantee you wouldn’t do so willingly. “I could never convince it to give up on you.”

The next thing you knew Steve’s mouth was on yours. Like coming home, he tasted exactly the same, honey and cinnamon and Steve. As odd as it felt to kiss him from this angle, you still sank in, the sob you wouldn't loose caught in your throat. When he pulled away, you saw his eyes boil black for a moment, and a shiver ran over your skin.

Even so, you didn't move away. Steve held you infinitely more securely than the rope that had bound your wrists. His hands cupped around your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks kept you in place when their sigil could not. His eyes, blue and green and beautiful, had caught you as surely as any diabolical snare demons had ever devised for angels. Or vice versa, to tell the truth and shame the devil.

"Should I send a message to the King of Long Island that you won't be joining him after all?" James couldn't have sounded happier if he tried. He loved you as a sister, almost as much as Steve did, and though he was furious that he'd been allowed to grieve you unnecessarily, he was too delighted to have you back to hold on to it.

"What?" Steve turned to glare at James as he barked the word. "Yes!" he shouted, his voice rich with disbelief that his friend even asked. "Go now. And close the door." Natasha made a tiny sound of protest and straightened out of her crouch as she stepped forward, making you wonder not for the first time who she was to Steve. James grinned and winked at you before taking Natasha's arm and guiding her from the room. Steve didn't see her turn to glare at you as she was led away, his eyes immediately returning to yours once he'd issued the command.

"She's my lieutenant, and my friend, nothing more." When you raised a questioning brow as your gaze returned to Steve's, he smiled. "I can still tell when you're jealous, my love. Your eyes go to smoke. I used to try to make you jealous just to see your eyes smolder."

"Did you?" You murmured the question, your lips curving in pleasure. Steve had always had a way of making you feel like the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

Once again you were taken completely by surprise by Steve’s mouth on yours. You couldn’t understand why, despite all your training, you couldn’t see it coming. Then Steve’s startlingly brawny arms were wrapping around your waist and pulling you tight against his broad chest and you couldn’t think at all, too focused on the press of his soft lips against yours. This, thank god, hadn’t changed.

The next thing you knew, you were being settled across firm thighs as Steve sank to the sofa you'd been sitting on and pulled you into his lap. "St--" The moment you were back in his arms, Steve's lips were once again on yours and all the questions you needed to ask went up in flames along with any thought you had of resisting the wildfire that had flared between you.

To your utter shock, Steve’s hands were already at the buttons of your bodice, unfastening them with deft but hurried fingers. You had no intention of trying to stop him, as eager for him as he for you, but this aggressive confidence in Steve’s touch was foreign to you, and thus of note, if not concern.

“It never occurred to me that breeches could be arousing, but it never occurred to me to imagine you in them, so…” Steve trailed off to bury his face between your breasts, his hands moving to unhook the modified corset you wore. The low rumble of Steve's voice sent a shiver of pure lust down your spine and you arched against him with a gasp. The delicious sound teased at your memory and you realized that you hadn't misremembered; Steve's voice really had changed.

"That's why you keep surprising me when you kiss me!"

Steve lifted his head from running his lips under the parting fabric over the curves of your breasts to smile at you. For the first time since you'd laid eyes on him again, you saw your Steve in his smile. You didn't know he was thinking something similar about you, that it was the first time since he'd heard your voice again that he'd heard his girl. It wasn't the cracked rasp, but the bored indifference that had made him question your identity. "What?" he asked with a laugh.

"Your breath doesn't catch when you're wound up anymore." You smiled softly, unable to hold your heart back from Steve, your Steve, as you lifted your hand to brush at the lock of blond hair that always fell over his forehead whenever he got disheveled. You'd always adored disheveled Steve; and absence truly had made the heart grow fonder.

Your face seemed to Steve like it was shining as you smiled down at him. His heart, whispering from wherever it hid from the demon he'd allowed to infest him, had insisted that you could not be lost to him forever, that it, that _he_ would know if you were truly beyond his reach. Should his heart be right, and he'd never allowed himself to give that thought credence for longer than a sleepless night, he'd never dreamed you'd look at him like this ever again.

All he'd been able to hope for was that you still lived; he'd never allowed himself to hope you still loved. The sight of not only the same love as when he'd been only a man, but an even deeper, richer love, had his breath catching in his throat.

The sound had the two of you grinning at one another before you dived.


	2. ...The Other in Hell

A long time later, you butted your head against the massive shoulder and chest you’d pillowed your head upon and made grumpy sounds. Steve burst out laughing and rolled to his side to face you, moving your head onto his bicep. The two of you were curled naked on the floor in front of the sofa; you'd tumbled him to the floor trying to get your breeches off. "Yes, milady?" Steve asked, his tone almost viciously sarcastic.

You were surprised by the edge; Steve's sarcasm had been softer when you were young. You weren't disappointed, however. You had sharp edges of your own these days.

"You fixed it," you replied archly. "Your shoulder is too high now. It hurts my neck." You pouted at him, aware he hated it, yet found it irresistible.

Steve leaned forward with a low growl and sank his teeth into your lower lip. "I never thought you'd complain about that part of it." You were both carefully easing around the subject of what _it_ was, neither willing to burst the little bubble of contentment you'd created in this place of shattered dreams. Though you didn't acknowledge it, neither of you were oblivious to the reality of your positions.

"I like seeing you healthy," you said when he released your lips, though you were a little breathless. "And you look good." You said this to his chest, feeling oddly shy. "But I loved my Steve the way he was. I wouldn't have changed him for worlds." You breathed the last, the thing neither of you wanted to acknowledge rising up to choke you.

Steve's voice sounded equally strangled when he spoke. "Loved?"

At the bleak note ringing in his tone, your eyes flew up to his. Though you'd seen them boil black multiple times over the previous hour, they were all Steve as they looked at you now and shining with tears. You'd never expected to see Steve look at you as though braced for a blow. You knew the best thing for both of you was to tell him that you didn't love him anymore, that you couldn't love what he'd become.

And you knew the lie to be so profane, so blasphemously false, it would burn your tongue like acid should you try to utter it.

"I love my Steve no matter what he looks like," you answered instead, your eyes filling with tears. You ruthlessly blinked them back, only one escaping. You shored up your defenses; two in one day was a record. Another slipped out when you closed your eyes in response to the feel of Steve's lips on your cheek, kissing the first away. You opened them again when his lips caught the other, your eyes catching the flash of gold in the depths. Your voice dropped to a near whisper as you went on. "I love my Steve no matter what he's become, or what he's done."

"Don't say that," Steve whispered back, his heart aching.

"I promised to be yours forever. I don't want to take it back."

"I'm not who I was. I feel like it right now, when I'm looking at you," Steve reached up to cup your cheek. The feel of those sensitive artist's fingers against your skin had you closing your eyes and sighing in pleasure. "But I'm not." The sound of Steve's voice had your eyes snapping open in shock. He'd let you hear the demon inside him and the pitch had your blood responding instinctively. The symbols that normally lay dormant underneath your skin began to glow in response. "Oh!" Steve blinked in surprise, his eyes swiftly returning to normal. "It's lovely!" His cheeks flushed with either desire or embarrassment, perhaps both. "I expected it to burn."

You smiled at him, but your voice trembled when you spoke. "I'm not who I was, either," you replied, and Steve thought only he would hear the melancholy in your tone, but he knew the cadence of your voice for all it had changed.

"You didn't used to be an assassin." Steve's face held that sadness you'd seen when you were children, but you had been too young then to recognize the expectation of betrayal. "Did you come here to kill me, my love?"

"Yes." You didn't hesitate, didn't try to evade. Steve deserved nothing but the truth from you, no matter how painful. You'd done that when you let him believe you'd died. "But I didn't know that until today."

Steve's eyes had boiled black at your admission, but they cleared quickly at your addendum. "I'm listening."

You smiled. Demon or not, you could always count on Steve to listen before wading in to a fight, though you were one of the few who could. You took a deep breath, leaned forward and kissed Steve, long, and warm, and sweet. "First, I meant what I said. I love you, no matter what."

You sat up and began to dress, the bubble was long gone, and you felt cold in just your skin despite the warmth of Steve's body against yours. Steve's face was sad again as he sat up to do the same. Once you were back in everything but your skirts, a fact Steve noted as you’d strapped your knife back to your thigh, you sat back on the couch. Steve sat next to you and at the sad smile on your face, he slid his arm around you to pull you close. You rested your forehead against his shoulder and took a shaky breath as you opened your mouth to tell Steve as much of the truth as you could, as far as you knew. Tony had lied to you for the last time.

"I was brought back from England for a singular purpose. Whether or not I stayed in New York depended on the outcome of my mission. I was absolutely _not_ supposed to see you under any circumstances. I wasn't supposed to leave Manhattan at all. I gave my handler the slip, or as I prefer to think of her these days, my warden."

Steve was grinning now. He couldn't count the number of times he'd tried and failed to dissuade you from doing something you most definitely were not supposed to do. He didn't know why Tony and the handler even bothered. His grin faded when you lifted your head and he caught sight of your expression. At your next words, he shared your desolation.

"I was brought back to assassinate, sight unseen, the Demon King of New York. I was told remarkably little about him, very tall, very strong, vicious as a snake." Your mouth was twisting derisively as rage bubbled up inside you. "I was told a great deal more about his lieutenant, a green-eyed redhead as fast as she is beautiful and twice as deadly. Imagine my surprise when I ran into her guarding your house."

Steve's eyes had been boiling black and you'd been feeling the infernal cold of the thing that lived inside him. It used the betrayal to bay for blood. Until he understood you'd had no idea. The shock seemed to snap him out of it, his eyes clearing and his body warming almost immediately. "Wait--"

"I was told nothing of what I was until the night I sat in my uncle's study, drinking a brandy to calm my nerves after escaping first the cage my father put me in, then the house fire he set, then the borough controlled by demons riled up by a regime change. Meanwhile, my mother and another of my father's victims had not escaped. I was then told that you had chosen your demon blood, joined your father--" Here you paused to take his face between your palms. "And as if I wasn't skeptical enough, then I was told you'd killed your mother, and I knew they didn't know as much as they thought they did if they believed that for a single moment."

Steve's eyes only bubbled once before settling back into familiar blue, so you kept going. "The good side keeps lying to me. And I keep going along with it because it gets me to my ultimate goal. I went along with this incredibly suspicious assassination plan because killing the King of New York would draw out my father and all I've cared about for years is destroying him for stealing my life from me."

You slid back into Steve's lap; you were getting used to the feel of his much muscular arms, enough so that you had started to miss it. Once you'd settled yourself across his thighs, your arm around his neck and nose-to-nose, he raised an eyebrow at you in disbelief. "My assassin is confident of her welcome."

"Well, I'm obviously not going to do it now." You rolled your eyes at Steve before burying your face in the crook of his neck.

"What am I going to do with you?" Steve scoffed gently and wrapped his arms tightly around you as he asked, though the moment the words were out of his mouth, he began to dread what came next.

You'd heard the question enough to know your answer. "Keep me."

"Can I?" Steve knew his lines, too, though he'd never delivered them with such despair. He held as still as possible, stress holding his muscles tight in preparation for the pain.

"If I can keep your name."

Steve had closed his eyes as he braced, but at the word 'keep', rather than 'have', they popped back open. "What?"

"You don't think I've been going by my own name this whole time. You married me that day in the garden. I'm Y/N Rogers now."

Steve's eyes blazed with golden light just as his lips met yours.

 

* * *

 

 

You and Steve spent the next hour telling each other as much as you both felt you could. There was no question that you still loved one another, but neither of you was able to forget that you stood on opposing sides. You would trust Steve with yourself, but you couldn't take the risk of trusting him fully. Regardless of how Tony and the others had lied, your loyalties still felt divided. You could tell by the way he talked around Natasha, and the others you knew to be there but whose names he didn't share, that he felt the same.

Instead you told Steve everything you could about what had happened to you since the last time you saw each other, omitting with whom to protect your alliances, no matter how strained. In return, you finally heard the whole story of what had happened that night.

"When my father kissed you, the symbols in your skin started to glow. It was… beautiful,” Steve breathed the word and the awe in the sound had your heart clenching in agony, “but the brighter it got, the more it seemed to burn you both. As you started to scream, my father looked like he was struggling to let you go until he suddenly threw you across the room." Steve paused, and the tightness of his jaw told you he had as hard a time with the memories as you did. You hadn't moved from your place in his lap, so you turned your face into the crook of his neck and kissed the soft skin of his throat in comfort.

Because your face was buried in his neck, you didn't see the spasm of pain that crossed Steve's face. Having you alive and in his arms was more paradise than something like him deserved, but he wasn't going to let you go. Though he hadn't done so in years, certain in his rejection, Steve prayed that you meant what you had said about loving him, about letting him keep you, because he wasn't sure how the demon inside him would react to having its desires frustrated and it had strangely become as possessive of you as Steve himself.

Clearing his throat, Steve went on, choosing to cross that bridge if and when you tried to leave. "I got to you before your mother did, and when I did the light pouring out of you went gold. That set my father off, and he started hitting my mother. I tried to stop him, but I didn't have the strength. You woke not long after." You could hear the grief in his voice and knew the worst was coming. "As your father carried you out, I lunged at him with the letter opener. My father caught me before I could do any damage and took the letter opener from me. Once the door was closed behind you, he used it to stab my mother."

Even as your heart wept anew at the loss of a woman you'd loved almost as much as your own mother, at the sound of Steve's grief, as cruel and cold as when it was new, your hands moved in soothing circles over Steve's shoulders, neck, and scalp. He didn't notice, but as you touched him, kissed him, you were filling him with the silver light that lived inside you. It flowed into all the cracks in his heart and soul as though it could heal the damage he was reliving. "As she bled out, he beat me to within an inch of my life. As I lay there choking on my own blood, he offered me the chance to live. All I had to do was accept the gift he'd already given me and my whore angel mother had tried to steal."

At the sound of the slur, and the demonic timbre, you lifted your head to look at Steve's face. His eyes were no longer boiling; the black had taken over even the white of the eye. Taken by surprise, you slipped into your other sight.

Every hair on your body stood on end, and the sigils your archangel mother had etched into your skin as an infant to guard against the demonic taint of your father's blood began to glow once more. The demon knew what you were up to and was displeased. Good. You leaned forward and brushed your lips softly against his. He responded by fisting his hand in your hair and dragging your head back to plunder your mouth. You let him, met him with a gentle passion of your own designed to soothe rather than enflame.

The warm taste of your mouth and the generous use to which you put it had Steve pushing the demon aside once more. Soon his lips were softening against yours and the hand that had been holding your hip in a bruising grip had come up to gently touch your face. When he pulled back, they were his own again, and sheened with tears. Steve let his fall freely, and though you knew better, you caught each with your lips as he had done for yours.

"I knew it was the only way to stop him, to stop your father. My mother's blood had prevented the demonic contamination from spreading. He performed the spell that would purge the angel and allow the demon to take hold. When I woke up, I looked like this." Steve rested his forehead against yours, and the sheer exhaustion on his face had your heart hurting for him. You kept brushing your hands through his hair and your mouth over his skin, trying to fill him up with light and solace.

"I slaughtered him. I had no control at first and I did unspeakable things to him. When I got to your house to find it in flames, I could have done the same to your father, but he saw me and ran. I've been chasing him ever since I found two bodies in the rubble."

Your head snapped up from where you'd been pressing your mouth to the point in his neck where you could feel his heartbeat. “You found--?”

Steve smiled, but it was a cynical twist of the lips. "Another thing you weren't told, I take it?"

You raised an annoyed eyebrow. You hadn't told Steve, but you'd had a long conversation with your uncle the day you'd returned. You'd made it clear that you understood why he'd withheld so much information from you when you were younger, but that you would not abide lies, even those of omission, any longer. Tony had agreed to share any information that had to do with or directly affected you. You weren't surprised that he'd been lying again, but you were disappointed.

"No." You sniffed, and the haughty disdain in the sound was so reminiscent of his youth, Steve chuckled wryly and wrapped his arms around you to shake you gently out of your ill humor as he'd done a thousand times. At the feeling, the corner of your mouth twitched in reluctant humor. You kissed him softly, your heart throbbing with remorse. "I'm sorry I let you think I was dead."

Steve snorted, then shook his head in disbelief. "I'm sorry I became a demon." He grinned when you snorted in return, then leaned his head back against the back of the sofa and looked up at you, his eyes tired and guarded. "So what now? Where does this leave us?"

One of the side effects of the damage to your voice was that your humming had become nearly soundless, a soft rasp almost indiscernible from a sigh. Fury had been concerned when your voice hadn't fully healed that you wouldn't be able to complete your training. The concern had been unnecessary. Whoever was in charge of these things apparently decided there was enough of a pitch to your broken voice to count. Not only could you perform incantations as deftly as any of your kind, you had the added benefit of being able to do so stealthily.

You had been humming the notes of an incantation since Steve had started his story.

You snuggled closer and went back to running your hands through his hair, your fingernails dragging in soothing light scratches over his scalp, only now you opened your mouth to sing the incantation. The previous humming had done its work; the demon was asleep and as Steve slipped into a trance, he murmured. "That's hardly fair, dearest."

"Oh, my love." You looked down at his beautiful face and let your blood react to the demon underneath his skin. " **Angels and demons have never played fair.** "

The sigils weren't the only thing that began to glow. Your mother had etched glyphs in between each sigil and these lit up as well, but for the first time, they glowed gold instead of silver. Your eyes were shining like suns as you drank in the sight you loved more than all others. The light had filled the room, and if you had been able to see anything but Steve, you may have noticed the way the shimmers of silver and golden lights seemed to collide and strike sparks.

You were trying to make yourself push more power out, to end this once and for all. You didn't expect to make it out of the house alive, but you didn't care about your revenge anymore. Steve had done the wrong thing for the right reasons, you the right for wrong. Neither of you were blameless, but that meant nothing when all you wanted was him. You didn't care about this war, or the right or wrong of it. You just wanted to go back to the days when you knew you'd spend the rest of your life at his side.

The door burst in with a slam as Natasha came barreling in. James was behind her along with several other people you'd never seen before. "Demons will want to stay back if they want to continue existing." Your voice had become the chiming ring of bells; combined with the sight of their King acquiescent in the middle of the flood of shimmering light, it stopped them in their tracks. 

James breathed your name, his voice rich with the pain of betrayal. You closed your eyes as guilt hit you in a wracking spasm.

"You shouldn't be so trusting, James." You turned to look at him and hoped he could see the remorse through the stream of light. You caught movement from the dark-skinned man with the sly eyes and recognized another of Steve's ilk, someone who rushed in where angels fear to tread. "Don't." You said it firmly as you turned your eyes to his. "The light will incinerate you."

"Sam." James voice held a warning and the man eased back without relaxing his stance just as Natasha spoke up.

"What about Steven?" she demanded, her tone promising retribution. So be it.

"Steve's special," you replied, your face softening as you turned back to him. "They told me they were bringing me back to assassinate the Demon King of New York. They lied." You were shaking, your body quaking with the force of the light pouring out of you. "I was bait!" You shouted it, trying and failing to hold back your fury; the injustice of it had a pulse of light and heat surging out and pressing Steve's friends against the wall. Only James stayed where he was.

"Bait?" He asked it quietly and had all eyes except yours turning toward him. James knew you, could see the anguish, the indecision, regardless of the brightness with which you shone.

"I don't kill," you explained, your voice softening as you brushed Steve's hair back from his face. He was looking up at you with pure love and trust in his eyes, the trance carefully created to keep him from suffering. "I cleanse." At the word, a shiver of both fear and longing shivered through every person in the room. Cleansing would remove demonic contamination, but at the cost of one's mortal frame. "I can't do it from a distance. They didn't intend for me to do it at all, or they would have trusted me with the information that Steve is the Demon King of New York."

Natasha quivered like she was about to leap for your throat, but a bored-looking brunet that had come bursting in with the rest gently restrained her with a firm grip around her upper arms. "Then what's with the angel melodrama?" he asked, his voice strangely casual for the situation. You found yourself liking this demon, too.

"I know what I'm supposed to do." You said it softly, more to Steve than as an answer to the strange man's question. "I know the 'right' thing. If Steve was the angel, and I the demon, he'd do the right thing no matter how much it hurt him." The shaking was coming in harsher waves, your body wracked with paroxysms. "But I don't see a demon when I look at you." You whispered the last, your lips a breath from his, but the bell sound the incantation had given your voice carried it through the room. "I don't know if that's my weakness or your strength."

You pressed your lips to his, determined to do what you had been trained to do, but the pain of it was too big. You dragged in a sobbing breath and realized the wracking spasms came not from the light, but from the convulsive weeping you hadn't recognized. Years of grief too long restrained came pouring out of you in what felt like an ocean of tears. When Steve's arms lifted to embrace you, his hands diving into your hair to hold your head in place, you knew you couldn't destroy him, even to save him. You rather be damned yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, unable to control the waves of despair that threatened to tear you apart. “I can’t. I can’t.”

You noticed James relaxing and realized the light was dimming, but you weren't doing it. At the same moment, you also became aware that Steve's arms were tight around you and he was rocking your quaking body while he shushed you tenderly, the whispers in your ear instinctive endearments and reassurances. As the sobs continued to rip out of you, the cold black cloud billowing out of Steve softly tamed the bright light, cooling the white-hot holy fire that burned beneath your skin.

Once the heat and fire had been gently smothered, like a candle snuffed before bed, you found yourself curled like a child in Steve's arms still weeping quietly. The tearing sobs had left your throat raw and even more cracked than usual. As the light had drained out of you, so too had your strength. Your voice no longer chimed, the only sound you were making now your gasps for breath between nearly inaudible cries of exhaustion and despair.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw James hold out his hand as the rest of Steve's people filed out. Each of them placed what looked like a banknote in his palm as they walked by. Under your ear, Steve's voice rumbled in his chest. "Buck?"

"I told 'em if she didn't try to kill you in the first ten minutes, she wasn't going to." His face spread in the carefree grin you remembered from your youth and you realized you didn't see a demon underneath James' skin, either. "Not knowing our Y/N, they were skeptical."

"How much you make?" Steve asked with a low chuckle, his arms cradling you gently as his hands moved in soothing circles over your back and shoulders. You understood nothing of what was going on, but since you had your hands full trying to get your emotions back under control, you decided to worry about it later. You focused on your breathing, trying to bring yourself back from a full-blown attack of the vapors.

You were an archangel, a holy warrior of goddamn light. You would NOT succumb to the fucking vapors.

Nicholas Fury had shouted any number of things at you. That one was your favorite.

That's when it registered that Steve was breathing in a carefully even rhythm. Your heart simply melted at the realization that he was doing for you what you'd done for him a thousand times, helping you to calm your breathing by example. Steve didn't seem to be aware of what he was doing, his focus on James. Your breathing slowed as you matched his rhythm, but it was the reminder of Steve's unrelenting goodness that had your sobs easing and your tears slowing.

How could you destroy a man who remained pure even with a demon infesting his soul? Who could blame you for failing your mission when your mission was to kill Steve? Anyone who could pull that off and sleep at night was more demon than he'd ever be.

The thought had you settling further, the purge of emotion cathartic, leaving you almost submissive in your exhaustion. You lay quietly within the curve of Steve's arms, uncaring of what happened to you next as long as you didn't have to move. You had put your trust in him when you didn't fight against the cold cloud that had cloaked your light in darkness. If it was a mistake, you were willing to answer for it, even unto damnation.

"Five dollars," James answered with a slow, devious grin.

Steve laughed out loud, and the sound rumbled through you, pressed as tightly as you were to his body. You were burrowing against him, trying to get as close as you possibly could before you let yourself drift off to sleep. If Steve let you, you had every intention of sleeping there. To your shock, he seemed inclined.

"It should not be that easy to fleece demons," Steve replied, his voice wry. “We should really have a talk about being so arrogant. Or trusting.” The last he delivered with an arched brow in James' direction.

“Seriously.” You muttered it darkly, your voice muffled against Steve’s throat where you’d buried your face, the harsh scratch highlighting your displeasure. However, your irritation with James faded immediately and you sighed happily when Steve’s laugh purred against your lips.

You couldn’t see James’ face, but you could hear the sweet smile in his voice. “You can’t blame them. Who would bet an archangel wouldn’t slay an archdemon?”

You snorted, and Steve smiled. “Someone who knows the angel.”

You and James spoke in unison.

“And the demon.” “Or the archdemon.”

"Well, I'm off to gloat. Ring if you need anything and I'll send someone else." James closed the door behind him with a quick grin, leaving behind a silence that wasn't so much thick as it was poignant.

“Before we were interrupted by your ‘angel melodrama,’ as Clint called it, I believe I asked you a question, dearest.” Steve spoke softly, his voice warm but cautious. "Where does this leave us?"

You inhaled deeply through your nose, reveling in the scent that drew so many memories to the surface. When you released your breath, it came out in a sigh, but the contentment in the sound was clear despite the rasp. "I say we call it a draw. I'm awfully tired and I don't really want to find out who would win."

You couldn't see it, but by the way Steve was shaking his head, you could imagine the indulgently exasperated smile that he wore when he replied. "That's not what I meant."

You tilted back your head until you could see Steve's face. His jaw was set, the muscle in his cheek jumping and you realized he was nowhere near as calm as you had thought. You lifted your arm with an effort and softly brushed your fingers over that stubborn chin. You imagined that he was only more unmanageable now that he was almost a foot taller and covered in the corresponding muscle. You were wondering how many punches that jaw had taken in the past five years when his eyes met yours.

You let your arm fall; you had not yet recovered enough strength to hold it up any longer. "I really am so tired, Steve." He opened his mouth and you shook your head. "Not just right now, all the time." You sighed a little and rubbed your cheek against Steve's shoulder, something he remembered you did when you were about to confess not living up to the expectations of your mother. "I'm tired of this war, tired of training, of fighting. I'm tired of missing you every moment of every day. I'm tired of living without you."

Your voice was getting a little stronger as anger gave you the next best thing to energy. "I neither asked nor volunteered for this war; I was forced into it. I'm tired of allowing those that did so tell me lies designed to keep me from you."

Steve was watching you with eyes that glittered. Black bubbled up from time to time, but green tinged blue won out again and again. “Stay.” He stated the word baldly, even bleakly, as though he still expected you to say no. If you were smart, you probably would. But then, if Steve was smart, he wouldn't ask.

"As long as you like." Now that you'd made your decision, everything inside you settled into place. You were home again, wrapped in the arms of the man that had always and would always hold your heart. You were done worrying about the rest for the time being.

Steve's voice dropped almost to a whisper when he asked, "Forever?"

You smiled and lifted your heavy arm to pull his mouth to yours. "I'm willing to try," you rasped just before your lips met his and you felt him smile as he sank into the kiss. "If you have a place I can sleep for a little while," you continued when your lips were free again, "as soon as I have the energy, I'll write a letter to my uncle. Do you have someone fast that can deliver it?"

Steve couldn't help but smile. He fully intended to let you sleep exactly where you already were. What was the point of being in charge if he couldn't delegate for a day? And as for someone fast, Steve's mind flitted to the demon twins Clint had found a couple years before. The little witch was a fount of pure power, but no one could match her brother for speed. He opened his mouth to tell you so when he realized you were almost asleep.

Steve looked down at you, awed that you'd not only somehow come back to life, but back to him. He shifted a little to make both of you more comfortable while you rested and regained your equilibrium. He didn't know why, but the demon side of him purred to have you close, and his. Maybe there were crazier things than an angel and demon in love.

"Steve?" Your voice was sweet, if still hoarse, and had Steve's eyes closing in bliss even as the guarded part of his heart squinted against the unaccustomed feeling. "I never stopped loving you. Not for a minute.” You snuggled closer and sighed in contentment. "I love you, Steve." You hoped you woke up with Steve in a bed. You had plans for how you were going to use the rush of energy that came after you slept off the rush of letting the angel take over and he was not going to be in charge this time.

The last thing you heard before you finally succumbed to exhaustion was Steve's voice, rich and warm as he answered, "I love you, too, dearest.” And if his eyes were black as pitch, it still wasn’t a lie. Somehow, in its way, the demon loved you, too.

 

* * *

 

 

 

> _Dear Uncle Tony,_
> 
> _I must begin with an apology. Perhaps I should have spoken to you in person rather than trusting this message to a letter, but I thought it best to keep my distance, for now at least. I have no intention of going back to England._
> 
> _I went home to Brooklyn, but not to see Steven. Had I known the house I was watching belonged to the man I was brought home to cleanse perhaps I would not have been so easily captured. I understand why you felt you could not trust me, but you should not have then tried to use me for your own ends. You should not have deceived me._
> 
> _I am certain that it will come to no surprise to you, but you were undoubtedly correct; I was destined to fail this mission. I could never have ended him. Not for only the reasons you assume, however._
> 
> _Steven and I bound our souls together before we knew our intended places in this war. I kept it to myself, but I did not completely disgrace my family when I allowed him the rights of a husband. We may not have had any witnesses but the flowers, but that did not make our vows any less binding._
> 
> _You must understand that I can see him for exactly what he is. I know you will understand what I mean when I say the angel was almost fully upon me, when we are unable to look away from evil no matter what we may prefer, and I looked at Steven, trying to make myself do that for which I had been trained. When I did so, I did not see the kind of creature that lives beneath my father’s skin. I no longer see a pure soul, but neither you nor I possess such a thing. I do not see how we can judge Steven._
> 
> _In such a situation, I cannot see any choice but to cleave to my husband. To be honest, I did not look for one._
> 
> _If you wish to contact me, leave a message at my gravestone. I promise it will find its way to me. That is far less ominous than it sounds._
> 
> _Your loving niece,_
> 
> _Y/N Rogers_

 

Tony Stark, Angel King of Manhattan, multi-millionaire, known eccentric and universally recognized genius, read the letter a third time before tossing it onto his desk. He glanced over at his right-hand and best friend, who sat on the sofa across the room waiting patiently.

Tony looked up at the man that had brought him the letter. Happy's heart had been heavy as he had done so; Tony inspired loyalty in those around him because he could be counted upon to return it.

"Happy, will you ask Pepper to join us?"

Relieved, as he knew Pepper would be more help than anyone else in this situation, nodded and turned to leave. "Sure thing, boss."

Once the door had closed behind Happy, the man on the couch spoke up. "Ransom or rescue?"

At that Tony started to laugh. His face turned sweet as it scrunched along with the schoolgirl giggles tumbling out of him. When he lay his head on the desk and howled, James Rhodes stood up and crossed the room to pick up the letter. Once he'd read it through, he looked down at Tony's quaking shoulders. "They took vows?"

"Uh-huh!" The sound was strangled, but recognizable as an affirmative.

"But wasn't that the plan the whole time?" Rhodey was shocked that Tony was laughing. If this letter was true, it meant the plan had worked and the last five years of screaming, nerve-scraping tension and barely leashed hostility, waiting for Rogers to make his move, had been utterly unnecessary.

Pepper entered the room expecting to find her husband already planning a strategy to get their niece back. Instead she found him drooling on his desk as he convulsed in laughter while his infinitely more grounded friend looked on in dismay. Without a word she joined Rhodey next to the desk, holding her hand out for the message that had brought such chaos to her household.

As she read, her eyes turned soft and sad even as her lips pressed into an exasperated line. When she had married Tony, the plan to save Sarah Rogers' son from his demonic bloodline were already in place. She had urged Tony, his sister, and Sarah to be honest with you and Steve, to tell you what they hoped to accomplish, but their biases had left them unable to trust children born of demons, no matter how old or venerable their angelic bloodlines.

"As Tony is currently of no assistance, do you know what this means?" Rhodey murmured to Pepper, the two of them long accustomed to commiserating over Tony's odd fits and starts.

"If they took vows before Steven's father finished his transformation, his soul would be bound to hers." Pepper was delighted; you were as dear to her as a daughter. However, she was also infuriated that their mistakes had cost both you and Steve so much time and caused so much misery. "When bound, their souls are balanced, neither the angel nor the demon able to take full control. Isn't that correct, Tony?"

At the strident tone of the question, Tony laughed all the harder. Pepper was mostly correct, but she'd forgotten that the binding would leave the demon addicted to and thus easily swayed by the angel. He was laughing because there was literally no reason to be afraid for you any longer. Tony fully expected Steven Rogers, Demon King of New York to be as harmless as a kitten before the end of the day, at least when it came to you.

When his little sister had returned from her own training in England to find that her dearest friend Sarah had been tricked into marrying an archdemon and bearing him a son, she had immediately hatched a plan to save the child. She had come to Tony for help, knowing he would assist her if for no other reason than to take Brooklyn back from the other side.

Tony had had to be coldly realistic. Though he had known the plan was fraught, the risks high, he also knew the rewards would be worth it. All he'd had to do was toss his own flesh and blood into the fray. He laughed, because if he'd been a better uncle than a warrior, perhaps he wouldn't have to leave a message on his niece's gravestone to tell her he was sorry.

 

* * *

 

 

_A little over a year later…_

Tony and Rhodey stood looking down at the sniveling creature in front of them when Happy knocked and entered, his face beaming smiles, a scrap of paper in his hand.

"Hey Boss! I still haven't figured out how, but a message got here right before the gossip. Brooklyn's got a new heir!"

Tony's head snapped up from contemplating his sister's murderer, his hand darting out to snatch the message out of Happy's grip.

 

 

> _Stark --_
> 
> _At her request, I am writing you on behalf of Mrs. Rogers to inform you_ _James Anthony Rogers was born this_ _mid-_ _morning. Mother and son are both healthy and well._
> 
> _Regards,_
> 
> _Romanoff_

 

Tony grinned and handed the message to Rhodey.

"What gift do you think the new mother would like best, Rhodey?" He asked the question cheerfully, his eyes starting to shine with a bright blue light.

Rhodey looked at the demon cowering away from the light, his face stretching into a smile that matched Tony's for glee. "She's always been fond of butterscotch."

As light poured out of him, Tony's voice began to clang like the ring of cathedral bells. The blue-white light turned searing as the demon began to scream. "I had another dish in mind."


End file.
